


The Time Traveler's Assassination

by NuperSatural



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Comedy, Doing the Devil's Work as per Usual, F/F, F/M, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Satire, Tagged Major Character Death even though we all know how this one ends, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:48:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24549403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuperSatural/pseuds/NuperSatural
Summary: Lee Harvey Oswald is transported back in time to Kennedy's days at Harvard, where the two become lovers. Years later, Oswald's jealousy over Kennedy and Johnson's relationship comes to a head on a fateful day in Dallas, and the wrong man takes his bullet.Updates every Friday.
Relationships: Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis/Lady Bird Johnson, John F. Kennedy/Lee Harvey Oswald, Lyndon Johnson/John F. Kennedy
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	The Time Traveler's Assassination

**Author's Note:**

> Listen. I don't think I need to explain that this fic is a joke, albeit an elaborate and time-consuming joke that I actually put a lot of effort and research into, but just in case the Kennedy family decides to sue me for defamation, I'll say it anyways: this fic is a joke. Although JFK was gay af for falling asleep when Jackie phat ass out like that. Okay, enjoy.

It's an unseasonably hot day in Queens. The asphalt streets simmer and sweat underneath the pedestrian traffic. Children crack eggs on their sidewalks and wait for them to cook. It's gross. It's so humid you could drink the air. The dense layer of heat that had settled over the borough in the early hours of the morning was promised to lift by nightfall, although for now it gave the illusion of an early summer.

Famously, internationally, there is an airport on the southern side of Queens. At this time, it's known as New York International Airport, but also as Idlewild Airport on account of the displeased golfers that used to drive the terminals and putt the taxiways. In a few short years, its name will change along with the tide of the country. 

Passing through the airport, on his way back to Washington, is President John F. Kennedy; his presidential brigade of secret servicemen forming a shield around him as he makes his way through the ever-growing tide of people. Usually, he like to stop and meet people, kiss hands and shake babies, pretend to get to know the people who out him into office. But today he's in a hurry, and besides, the voting population of Queens had been a near 50/50 split between him and Nixon two years prior. 

Also passing through the airport is a 23 year-old, completely non-infamous, ex-Marine by the name of Lee Harvey Oswald. Moving back to the States after spending four years in Minsk, Oswald has forgotten certain characteristics of the average American. For instance, that even in a city known for having fast-walkers, crowds easily slow and become herded like cattle when anything partially-interesting is happening close by. Sort of like what is happening right now. Directly in front of him.

Stopping suddenly in his path, Oswald is swept into the bottleneck of people currently swarming an unidentifiable figure. Feeling frustrated and a little claustrophobic, he begins to elbow his way through the crowd, perhaps shoving a little harder than is strictly necessary. But can you blame him? He's basically in New Jersey.

Squeezing is way through the crowd, he's forced to move closer to the apex of everyone's attention. Tall, intimidating men in suits surround a single man, shouting to the crowd and each other as the inch their way towards their terminal. Abruptly, the crowd surges forward. Oswald, having no room to move forward himself, is thrust out of the mass of people, and into the hard side of one of the suited men. 

"Get back! Stay back! No one touches the President!" The man yells, shouldering him back into the crowd.

_The President?_ Oswald thinks to himself. Craning his neck over the large arm of the bodyguard, he's met with the sage-colored eyes of one, John F. Kennedy.

Time freezes for Lee Harvey Oswald.

As quickly as the moment happens, it ceases, and Oswald is shoved back into the crowd. He stands still in shock as people file past him. His heart is beating like a race horse's, his breath gone, his stomach full of concrete. Concrete? Sure, why not, concrete. 

His mind finally catches up with his body, and his jaw drops open/

"Quite a looker, that Jack Kennedy, eh?"

Oswald continues to stare, mystified, as the crowd follows the president out of his line of sight. "Pardon me?" he asks the disembodied voice to his right. 

"Oh, all the Kennedy men are like that, don't 'cha know? Believe it or not, I used to run around with that Bobby Kennedy before he got to being the Attorney General and all. As hung as he is charming." 

Further bewildered, Oswald turns and sees the owner of the gruff voice. Standing next to him is an old woman, smiling at him despite having few teeth left, and wearing a terrycloth bathrobe. His eyebrows pull together in suspicion. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I noticed you lookin'. Sure wish you could have a chance with him, eh?"

Sternly, defensively, Oswald replies, "I don't appreciate what you're implying." 

The old woman releases a nerve-racking cackle at this, and deciding he best not entertain a woman who is clearly crazy, he quickly says "I've never found Bobby Kennedy to be that charming anyways," then turns and walks away. 

But her laughter doesn't seem to fade the further he walks away. Suddenly feeling sick, Oswald ducks into the nearest men's room and splashes lukewarm water onto his clammy face. Leaning over the sink with both hands clutching the porcelain for dear life, his vision begins to swim. Her laughter turns hysterical in his head.

"Guy? Hey, guy? You alright there?"

He feels his blood rush to his head as his stomach lurches. A dry cough leaves his mouth, but it sounds a million miles away.

"Hey, c'mon now, are you alright?"

His vision filling with black dots, he puts his hands out reflexively, and falls toward the hard tile of the bathroom, landing instead on a coarse surface like sandpaper, with his head hitting a cushion of soft fabric. 


End file.
